


The Burning of Teldrassil

by alycakeisdelish



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: But here's my contribution to it, Fear, Gen, Going back to pretending it doesn't exist., I hate this fucking expansion, Migrated From Tumblr, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 01:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alycakeisdelish/pseuds/alycakeisdelish
Summary: A paladin charges headlong into an inferno, searching frantically for the one man who made her feel like a person again.





	The Burning of Teldrassil

**Author's Note:**

> As nice as I think this piece is. Fuck you Blizzard. I hate BFA.

The Sanctuary under Light’s Hope was much more occupied than she expected it to be, though it didn’t buzz with the same fervent activity as it once had. The steps taken were lazy, relaxed, and laughter was frequent among the hum of many voices. Tauren, dwarves, humans, even the Sin’dorei gathered together in small clusters, smiling. Why not? It was over. The great army done in. What was left now, but peace? Tensions fizzled like embers in a storm and the atmosphere had been exponentially lighter. Before, she’d had to slink like a rogue to see _him_ , in hidden corners of Dalaran, deserted areas of the world, praying that none bore witness to the vulnerability of something as simple as affection. Now they walked together in the floating city, close, fingers dangerously touching, flirting with the commitment, but not quite. Not yet. The memory of his warm skin against her cheek made her eyes feel heavy, and she closed them as she settled the last piece of her armor into place on the rack, allowing herself the slightest curl in the corners of her mouth. A ghost of a smile. Invigorated by the gentle warmth, the slight squeeze in her chest, she began to shut the folding doors, ready to allow the metal, the chainmail and the hammer, her beloved hammer, sleep. It was like the turning of the last page in a beloved book, knowing it was over, but heartened by the contents, the journeys you’d taken between its words; put away, but with a tender affection that would always linger in your nostalgia. 

Turning, the Sin’dorei began to walk from the armory, feeling lighter. It was as if the entire world had opened up to her then, the next cover of a book, unexplored, being opened, greedy for the ink of a new chapter. 

A human fell through the glimmering golden portal back to Dalaran, harried, wheezing with the effort of his travel. Several turned to look, concerned. A Sunwalker moved to help the man to his feet, and he only lurched aside, as if the three-fingered hold had burned him. His voice sent daggers of ice down her spine. Fear. 

“The tree! Burning.. The Horde are burning down the tree! Teldrassil.. it’s ablaze!”

Confusion. The laughter died, the hum silenced, each paladin looking at another. You could see in the faces. _Certainly, you didn’t? No, of course not!_ The silent conversations, the sudden accusations, the bodies, frozen by uncertainty. The pages of a book, suddenly aflame. 

There was roaring, a massive thunderous orchestra in her ears as she took a step back, slowly at first, before her body soaked itself in adrenaline. Back to the armory. Her dress hit the floor, the shame of being seen, vulnerable, all gone. Linen shifted over her shoulders, before chain mail, plate, greaves, gloves. Her metal fingers jerked a helmet off the rack and she jammed it under her arm as she ran, her heart already pounding as if she’d run three miles in just three steps. It was easy to move through the confusion of the milling bodies, voices raising, questioning. _How could this happen?_ The accusation was still there, hanging in the air, although she heard no condemnations. Not _yet_. 

Then it was gone. The strange magic of teleportation always made her feel a bit nauseated, but it was crushed by everything else. Panic, slowly creeping into her limbs. She hit the other side running, jamming the helmet onto her head, glad that she’d worn her hair up, instead of down, as she’d been doing more often of late. She took the steps two at a time, the feel of falling making her stomach lurch. Light touched her fingers, warmed her body, chased away the chill of fear as she called, desperately outward. A neigh tore through streets and citizens who weren’t already rushing about, (the news traveled quickly), scattered at the sight of the gold-touched, white steed charging in her direction. Amoralynn would have to apologize to Vergil later, but she needed the horse, the strong shoulders, the armored tack and lack of fear. In a running leap that she hadn’t done since she was a child, ( _memories of throwing herself onto creamy Belldoor’s back, his side, his flank, shoulder, hitting the ground, over and over again, desperate to get the running mount, the gelding humoring the girl with the patience of a saint_ ) she hit the saddle and pulled herself up, and they both careened around the corner. Greymane Enclave was forbidden, but the usual Worgen Guards were missing, and she charged through the arch with no resistance outside of the passing “Hey!” of a stranger. The glimmering image of purple and red accepted them readily.

Silence.

The roaring was gone, the thrumming in her ears finally quiet.

It was replaced by screaming, though it didn’t register at first. The first thing that registered was the heat. Immediately she could feel sweat under her armor, but it was mild, a fly on the skin of an animal a hundred times bigger. 

“A paladin! Thank Elune! Take this!” Amoralynn was so shocked she nearly didn’t catch the bucket being flung at her, catching it with fingers that felt numb, detached. Magic hummed through the simple wooden pail of water. “ _Please_ , go!” There was too much going on, not enough time for explanation, no time for anyone to see anything but a helping hand. Without a command the horse between her legs took off, leaping over the small ledge inside the Temple, and into the inferno.

Amoralynn thought she’d seen horror on Argus. The bodies, the bones, the fel. The first time she’d laid eyes on an Ur’zul, understood, realized what it was, she’d gotten physically sick.

It was nothing compared to this. 

The screaming had finally registered. Mixed with the crackling of the flames, the hot air surging around and upwards. It was deafening. She didn’t go about drenching everything she could see with the magic influenced water, but it was close enough. Her boots would hit the ground, the water practically tossed itself out of the pail, chasing flames; the hiss and billow of smoke made her cough every time, but she paid it no mind. A Kalodrei hand would grab her, she’d grab back. Here, are you strong enough to hold the pail? _Yes._ Stay on the horse’s back. Into the building for another. A child in her arms, a man on her back. She didn’t know if he was alive. The child in front of the first woman, she laid the man across the stallion’s flank, keeping a hand on him as she grabbed the reins and ran. Back. Back to the Temple, as fast as she dared. 

Over and over again. There were so many, too many. She had to leave the dead where they were. There was no time. Amoralynn checked every face, heart squeezing. More women, more children, more men. She burdened the steed with as many of the living as she could, carrying one herself, running back. They’d dismount, murmuring prayers and thanks to their goddess, whose Temple Amoralynn now desecrated with her very presence, and disappear through the portal. Her lungs burned with smoke, her muscles ached, her skin felt hot, but she _felt_ nothing. Nothing but fear, even as she charged back into the flame.

And then it was too late. Time was up. She returned, passing the unconscious woman in her arms to a Worgen who quickly passed into the Portal; the conscious dismounted and practically ran through themselves. She turned to go back, and a Priestess reached out to grab her plate shoulder, “No! It’s too late!” The Kaldorei only touched her for a moment, before yanking her hand back, hissing. The metal was hot to the touch, Amoralynn could feel the heat, the burn of her skin. “We have to go!” Numbly the Sin’dorei looked back at the entrance of the Temple. Red. She hadn’t found him. She needed to find him. She couldn't leave. Another yank at her shoulders, and darkness again. Dizzying nausea.

The sky in Stormwind was clear, painted with clouds that glowed pink and orange in the sunset. Innocent. Ignorant of the horror. The air was pure, and suddenly Amoralynn could feel everything. Her lungs sucked in air that wasn’t black with smoke, nearly hyperventilating as she leaned over, placing her hands on her knees. Her body threatened to go down. Legs, arms, too weak to hold herself up much longer. She refused. If she went down, she might not be able to get back up. She _had_ to get back up. The Kaldorei priestess who touched her pauldron, demanding she leave, suddenly threw a wet cloth over her shoulders. It shocked Amoralynn into standing there, dumb as the other woman demanded assistance. “Get this plate off! She’s practically baked.” Others were in similar situations, armor being tossed off, skin being covered with cooling rags and salve. A metal shoulder hit the cobblestone, and the other, the weight lifting off her shoulders, heat escaping. Someone reached for her helmet as her chest plate and chain-mail skirt hit the ground around her feet. and the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. She wanted to fight, to grab the hand, yell No please don’t.. But she couldn’t. The helmet was carefully peeled from her head. Red locks, wet with sweat, fell around her face, the tie that had been holding it up failing, probably half melted somewhere in the thick strands. The freedom was blissful and she closed her eyes, the cool air soothing the angry red skin of her cheeks, marred only by black soot and insistent freckles. Her skin was burning, the kind of burn that you experienced when you sat in the sun for too long. She sucked in another breath, and it came in only as a weak wheeze. 

The Priestess and the woman helping her froze, torn by the sudden, strong, violent thought of Horde, and the knowledge of her actions, too juxtaposed for any sense to be made in a split moment. It was enough for Amoralynn, whose legs suddenly couldn’t hold her anymore. Free of plate and chain, in only the fast-cooling, sweat-drenched linen, her knees buckled, and she collapsed, caught only by the reflex of the smaller Kaldorei. With blurred vision, she thought she spied a swipe of navy hair, a familiar hue of violet over the shoulder of the woman who was trying to keep the Sin’dorei on her feet. “Shearaji.” was all she managed to croak, voice cracked, throat bloody and ruined with smoke before the sweet, tender hold of unconsciousness took her under.


End file.
